Drama in Tokio
by CatzRuleMe
Summary: A sequel to another story I wrote called Sleepless in Tokio. Tom is dead...or is he? When Holly finds herself back with Tokio Hotel, can she save the band once again...and reunite Bill with his brother?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

—Bill Kaulitz—

"Bill…"

The ground was spotted with puddles, and the asphalt road outside was shiny with the new fallen rain. I walked through what looked like an abandoned building, the concrete walls cracked and heavily decorated with graffiti. I was searching for something—answers, a way out…that voice.

"Bill…Bill…"

I looked around, growing steadily more panicked. This place was so spooky, and yet something about it drove me further into the crumbling building. It reminded me of the multistory parking garage my band used to film the music video for _Don't Jump_ three years prior; not only was it because I was in such a building, which was freezing cold and fresh with rain, but the same eerie tension from the song and video lingered in the air.

"Bill…B-Bill…"

After a while, something else lingered in the air: a rusty smell that stung my nostrils and made my stomach flip. I became dizzy with faint and nausea as I realized that the garage had become alive with the reek of fresh blood. When I looked down at the rain puddles, they had changed from clear with a blackish murky tinge to dark red. I glanced up at the walls, and the colorful spray-painted graffiti had transformed into unreadable scribble painted on with blood—it looked exactly like something out of a horror movie.

"Bill…"

I knew that voice—it was Tom's.

"Tom, where are you?" I yelled.

"Bill…help…"

Instinctively, I sprinted through the building till I found Tom propped against the wall. I rushed over to him and shouted: "Tom! What's wrong?"

When my twin brother looked up at me, his face was pale beyond belief, and his eyes were dull as if the life had been sucked right out of them. When he raised a desperate hand out to me, I noticed it shaking violently. "Bill…help…"

"What's wrong?" I repeated, tears welling in my eyes. I grabbed Tom's hand and wrapped it in mine tightly, frantically trying to get him to stop shivering. "_Bitte_, Tommy. Tell me."

My brother gave a brief groan and, without warning, a huge mouthful of blood burst from his mouth and splashed onto the concrete floor. Letting go of his hand, I jumped back and screamed. Tom's eyes rolled back into his head as he went limp and flopped like a ragdoll onto the ground, landing in his own blood.

"TOM!" Tears were pouring down my face as I knelt beside the lifeless body of my brother. After a few faint gurgling noises, he grew silent—I felt as if a huge chunk of my spirit had been ripped from my core, and I knew my brother was dead. I threw my head back and screamed, my voice echoing through the barren parking garage.

I gasped and sat up. The acrid blood smell was gone, replaced with the familiar smell of my hairspray. When I looked around, I found myself back in my bedroom, and I realized that the ordeal was just a nightmare. But I wanted to be sure; wiping beads of sweat from my forehead, I snuck out of my room and tiptoed through the still-sleeping household. When I reached Tom's room, I carefully nudged it open and peered inside. I felt myself relax when I saw my brother sprawled across his bed, snoring loudly with his dog curled next to him.

I realized that I was smiling as I shut Tom's door and made my way into the kitchen for some coffee. What was I worried about? Tom and I needed each other; we lived for each other—there was no way we could become separated.

Or so I thought.


	2. Tickets

**Chapter 1**

—Holly Wainright—

My eyes flew open the minute I felt something hit my face. After a few seconds of confusion, I realized I was in bed and I had a pile of clothes on my head—the culprit of my awakening.

"Rise and shine, Holly, we're going shopping!"

I sat up and yanked the slightly unfolded jeans and t-shirt off my face. "Christie, what time is it?"

"I don't know, like eleven?" Christie shrugged.

My eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Yeah," my roommate replied, pointing to my alarm clock which did indeed say eleven fifteen. I was shocked; I hadn't overslept that much since my days in college. "Now get dressed and let's go to the mall!"

With an amused smirk, I rolled my eyes. Christie was such a good friend despite her impatient attitude and hyper antics. We had been dorm partners in college, and now we shared an apartment in the suburbs.

"So why did you sleep so late?" Christie asked as she drove out of the neighborhood. "You weren't up late last night, were you?"

"No," I replied. "I was asleep by nine, same as always. But…" I strained my memory.

"But what?" Christie asked.

"I was dreaming," I explained. "It was so vivid, and yet I can't remember what it was."

My friend was quiet for a minute, but then she spoke up. "Well, you know how dreams are. Maybe it'll come to you when you're not thinking about it."

I nodded, then sat back and stared out the window at the blurred scenery rushing past.

"Hey, Holly! Check this out!"

I looked up from the assortment of CDs and wove through the shelves till I got to the back of the store, where Christie was browsing band posters. "What is it?"

"Remember these guys?" My friend flipped to a poster of four men posing, and I was hit by a fierce wave of nostalgia. A thousand memories, a thousand pictures, a thousand words came rushing back to me in an instant. Old reminiscences that had been lost in time had risen to the surface, all because of a poster.

"T-Tokio Hotel…" I muttered. "Bill…"

"You know, I'm still super jealous that you got to hang out with my favorite band," Christie stated. "You have got to take me to meet them someday."

"I promised I would," I reminded her. "Bill told me to visit; I'll just bring you with me when the time comes."

"Holly, it's been a year," my friend complained.

"Bill waited two years to see me once," I pointed out. "And it still happened. Now when I say I'll try to get you a chance to meet Tokio Hotel, I mean it. Just please be patient."

Christie grumbled. "Fine. But I'll be reminding you frequently until you do." Suddenly, her face lit up, and she grabbed a rolled-up copy of the poster from the lower shelf. "Maybe they can sign this poster if we convince them to!"

I smiled in agreement. I remembered once having a drawing of Bill and his twin brother Tom that they had signed after a concert once, but I had since lost it.

I followed Christie, who was skipping merrily to the front of the store to pay for the poster. We were met by a cashier, who was a man about our age. He had thin brown hair, a septum piercing and a pair of huge black gauges that made me shudder.

"Hi, ladies," the man said as he took our poster and scanned it. "Ah, Tokio Hotel fans, I see."

"Oh yeah," Christie replied. "I'm trying to get her to take me to one of their concerts."

Normally I would have said something, but I was mesmerized by the brown man's gauges, which seemed to jiggle as his head moved. I was watching, waiting for his earlobes to burst.

"Do you know that they're on tour here in the states?" the guy explained.

My friend's eyes grew huge. "Dude, are you serious?"

"Yeah," he replied. "They play just a few hours away from here in Chicago tomorrow night. My sister had booked three tickets for her and her boyfriend and his friend, but being boys and not wanting to get stuck in a concert full of screaming girls, they bailed at the last minute. If you want, I can give her a call and get you the tickets."

Christie started jumping up and down frantically. "This…is…amazing!"

I smiled politely. "Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me—or her—to get to see Tokio Hotel live in concert. We haven't been for a year."

Gauge Boy flashed me a smile. "No problem, anything for a couple of lovely ladies like yourselves. Come by in a few hours and I'll tell you if I've got the tickets."

Christie was still bouncy a half hour later when we sat down for lunch in the food court, jiggling around in her seat like her bladder was ready to explode.

"I sure hope that guy gets us tickets," she said for the hundredth time. "You have no idea how psyched I would be to meet Tokio Hotel! And what's more, if all those stories about you saving their lives and whatever are true, they might give us special treatment!"

"You never know," I answered simply, my mind in a daze. I chewed my pizza carefully as I contemplated what it might be like to finally visit Tokio Hotel again. Would I finally get to see Bill after so long, to hug him and laugh with him and exchange stories of what has happened since we last saw each other? Or would he even remember me after a year? I had been emailing him for a while, but things became busy for both of us and we lost touch. But even so, I saved his friend's life, and his brother's, too! Shouldn't he recognize me if I were to see him again? I sure hoped so; Christie had wanted to meet Tokio Hotel in person since before my first encounter with them, and other than one concert, she has gotten nowhere.

I scrunched my eyebrows. Tokio Hotel…something about it reminded me of my dream, but I still couldn't remember it at all. I hoped that I remembered it soon, though, because it was starting to bug me.

"Come on, Holly!"

Christie's outcry snapped me out of my thinking process. I quickly finished the last of my pizza and tossed the paper plate into the nearby trash can, then followed my friend back out into the mall.


	3. Nightmares

**Chapter 2**

—Holly Wainright—

I sat straight up in bed, panting and sweating. When I realized that I was back in my bedroom, I blew out a huge sigh of relief; it was just a nightmare.

"Holly, what the heck was going on?"

I jolted; I hadn't seen my roommate in my room. "Christie, what are you doing in here?"

"I came in to wake you up and get you ready," my friend explained, "and you were squirming and talking in your sleep. I hung back to see what it was about; you were saying something about blood and a guy named Tom."

I thought for a moment, and all of a sudden it hit me. "Christie! I remember my dream! I had it again last night, and this time it stuck."

"Well, judging the way you were tossing and turning, I'm not sure if I'd want to know." She walked over and plopped on my bed. "But do tell anyway."

I dove into the farthest reaches of my memory, allowing the dream to replay itself in my mind. "I was…I think I was in a multistory parking garage. It was pretty normal at first, but then I realized that the ground and walls were coated with blood. I heard someone calling out to me—or calling my name, at least—and I followed their voice through the building. Eventually I came across Tom Kaulitz, from the band, and he was reaching out to me desperately. I tried to grab hold of his hand and lead him out of that scary place, but he started coughing up blood, then he dropped dead in front of me." I shuddered. "I sat down next to him, panicked and frantically trying to figure out how I'd tell Bill, and that's when I'd wake up."

Christie looked horrified, but answered: "You probably had too much to drink last night."

It was a possibility; Christie and I had celebrated getting Tokio Hotel tickets over a few beers before retreating to bed. But I'd had the dream before, when I hadn't been drinking. "Well, for the fact that the dream keeps coming up, I wonder if it might mean something."

"Well don't worry about it now," Christie said, getting up from my bed and starting toward the door. "We've got a concert to catch."

—Bill Kaulitz—

I couldn't take it much longer. I fluttered my eyelids rapidly to blink back the tears that filled my eyes, but they just kept coming back up like vomit. I couldn't go onstage like this, but there was nothing I could do about it. Everyone expected me to have gotten over the event by now, but my sadness was more extreme than anyone could ever imagine. Although I could hold tears back, the painful lump in my throat couldn't have hurt more, and I was sniffling loudly.

"Take it easy, Bill," Gustav urged as he rubbed my back sympathetically. I was breathing in deeply, desperately trying not to let the tears win. There was a sob fest inside me that was dying for a way out, but it couldn't come out now; I was supposed to be onstage in ten minutes.

Try as I might to keep my crying contained until after the show, some tears managed to escape, running like freed zoo animals down my face; no doubt my makeup was not at least partially ruined. Gustav held me tighter, then shouted: "Hey, can somebody bring a tissue and Bill's makeup here?"

Gustav continued to caress me in a desperate attempt to calm me down as I dabbed my face with a tissue, which I stained with black and gray splotches of makeup. I wanted so badly to just let my tears pour out of my eyes and relieve myself of this bottled sadness, but I knew that my eyes would become bloodshot and it would become apparent that I was crying. My fans would undoubtedly become curious, especially after my tears overflowed and started streaming down my face in the middle of a performance in Indiana—that did not go over well with David afterword.

I found a mirror and began reapplying my makeup when David approached me. "Bill, I know this is hard for you. And as much as I would like for you to have more vacation time, we can't afford to give you a ton of time off. Just try not to think about it; let the music take you away to a land of magic and unicorns or whatever the hell happens when you sing."

I groaned. Music always did have a way of taking me to a far off world in the deep recesses of my mind that no one knew about—I mentioned it in a song I wrote called _World Behind My Wall_. But I could only hope that it would actually work, and that I didn't lose my concentration of containing my tears.

"Alright, let's go guys," David called throughout the room.

I took the lead through the hallway toward backstage, my fellow band members following close behind. I took one final deep breath, pulled the tears back into my head and put on the best fake smile I could muster. Jogging out onstage, I screamed: "How is everyone tonight?" The audience roared in a chorus of screams, and I secretly begged for the music to start so that I didn't have to worry about crying.

_It's almost over_, I told myself. _The tour is almost over…_


	4. Suspicions

**Chapter 3**

—Holly Wainright—

The concert was packed and full of energy. Every girl in the building had their hands in the air and was screaming their lungs out. Some held up posters or cameras or squeezed in for a closer look as the band came into view. My heart skipped a beat when Bill ran onstage and screamed: "How is everyone tonight?"

The girls screamed louder, and the concert began. Tom was jamming his guitar with full force, as was Georg with his bass. Gustav was rocking his drums with more energy than I could've ever imagined he had. And Bill…he was still as gorgeous as he was when I last saw him, even though he changed his hairstyle—again. He no longer sported the spiky Mohawk that he had last time; his hair curled to the side atop his head—from a distance, it looked like a black ball resting on top of his scalp.

Georg and Gustav still looked the same—as always—but Tom had changed. When I strained my eyes to look at Bill's twin brother, I went so far as to question if it was really Tom; his jaw was squarer than I remembered it being, and his cheekbones were too pronounced. There might have been more differences, but he was looking down most of the time and wore a huge pair of sunglasses. This struck me as odd; Bill was the only band member that regularly wore sunglasses, and not even onstage—one would think that they'd obstruct his vision in the already-dark stadium.

"Bill's still got it!" Christie shouted to me over the crowd.

I had to agree, but there was something weird going on onstage. Song after song, Bill skipped around like his usual self, but with less energy. And I realized something else was missing. "Hey, Christie!"

"Yeah?"

"Doesn't Bill usually run up to Tom at certain points in the show?"

Christie nodded. Bill and Tom had such a strong brotherly bond, and they were more than happy to show it up onstage during their performances—it made the girls go nuts. Usually, if there was a line in the song that was very sweet or affectionate, Bill would point to Tom or look at him or come up behind him whilst singing and let his love for his older twin shine. He did this not once during the show, and I grew increasingly suspicious about "Tom."

"So when do we get to meet them?" Christie asked, her voice almost completely drowned out by the ocean of screaming fangirls.

"After the show, I'll try and figure something out!" I shouted over the crowd. "But do you notice something…different?"

My friend raised an eyebrow, then turned toward the stage. "Like what?"

I leaned in closer to the stage and pointed to "Tom." "Does that look like Tom to you?"

"Of course he looks like Tom," she insisted. "He's got cornrows and a guitar in his hand, right?"

I sighed. It could have just been my imagination, but I've seen Tom up close, and the "Tom" onstage looked phonier by the second. "Christie, I've seen Tokio Hotel up close and person, and I can guarantee you that Tom didn't look like that. Either he got a serious face transplant, or that's not Tom at all."

—Bill Kaulitz—

"THANK YOU CHICAGO!" I hollered.

The crowd went berserk, and I jogged backstage. The minute I was out of the view of the audience, my tears started falling like rain. The rest of the band could barely keep up with me as I ran through the hall toward the tour bus. Once in the massive vehicle, I completely lost it. I flopped onto the couch and bawled my eyes out, letting my tears ruin my makeup and stain the pillow with grayish splotches. Gustav was there to pat my back some more, mumbling: "It's okay, Bill. The show's over; only a few more to go."

In between heaving sobs, I turned toward my friend. "Gustav, I know you're trying to help, and I appreciate that. But may I be left alone, please?"

Gustav's face sunk in disappointment, but he got up and left for the kitchen.

"Bill, can we talk?"

I only wailed louder when I heard that wretched voice. "GO AWAY!"

"Bill, please. Give me a chance to explain—"

"Leave me alone!" I persisted. "Get away from me!"

I heard the man back up in surrender, then retreat to the kitchen with the G's. "God, he hates me."

"Don't mind him," Georg grumbled. "Things just haven't been the same lately, and it'll take a while for him to adjust."

"He can't hate you just because you're not Tom," Gustav added.

But there was a difference. I didn't hate him because he wasn't Tom; I hated him because he pretended to be Tom. That jerk just came along and David gave him my brother's job; he replaced my twin with some stranger the way one replaces a flat tire with a spare. That might be the way my manager thinks, but I was Tom's twin brother, and I knew that he could never be replaced. And now, whenever I look at that…that thing, all I see is a hollow shell—a clone that mocks what was once my pride and joy.

I heard a whimper, and suddenly I was greeted by a wet nose nuzzling my shoulder. I whirled my arm back behind me and petted my dog's head. "Do you miss Tom, too?"

—Holly Wainright—

Once the concert was over, I wandered around frantically with Christie at my heels. The crowd started to thin out, and I devised a plan. Quickly, I instructed my friend to duck down and sneak onstage, then weave around till we were backstage. I heard a clutter of footsteps in the distance, and I had a good feeling about it.

"This way," I ordered. We made our way through a labyrinth of hallways before coming to a massive door with bright sunlight shining through the window. Once outside, we stumbled blindly about until our eyes got used to the light and our vision cleared. But when it did, I jumped in surprise at the sight of a large man standing in front of me.

"What are you girls doing out here?" he demanded.

I gasped in surprise; I recognized that voice. And when I looked up at the man, he glared down at me with familiar piercing eyes, grizzly facial features and yellow-stained teeth. "Tobi?"

The man grunted. "You girls know you're not supposed to be back here, right?"

"Tobi, don't you remember me?" I asked. "I came here a year ago. I saved Georg's and Tom's lives, helped Gustav open up after his ordeals, and Bill saved me from drowning."

Tobi's eyes lifted, and his eyes grew soft. "Holly?"

I smiled. "Good to see you again."

The bodyguard smirked politely. "I suppose." He turned to Christie. "But who are you?"

"This is Christie," I explained. "She's my best friend and a hardcore Tokio Hotel fan. I promised her I'd take her to meet Bill and the gang."

Tobi's smile faded, and there was a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "Now might not be a good time, I'm afraid. Things have been grim lately, and Bill has been accepting visitors less and less." He lowered his eyes in thought. "But he does have a great deal of respect for you, so maybe you'll be okay. Come with me."

The bodyguard led us across the parking lot toward the tour bus. Once inside, dismay hit me square in the stomach. I saw Bill lying on the couch in the living room, heaving loud sobs and pouring tears to the point where his whole face was black with running makeup.

"What…what happened?" I muttered.

Georg and Gustav—who stood watching from the kitchen doorway—snapped their heads in my direction. Georg exclaimed: "Holly!" while Gustav's face lit up as he beamed. But as soon as they saw the look of horror on my face, their expressions dimmed.

"What's going on?" I persisted. "What's wrong with Bill?"

Gustav approached me, his eyes heavy with sadness. "Tom is dead. Someone murdered him."


	5. Devastation

**Chapter 4**

—Holly Wainright—

I felt as if the weight of a thousand boulders came crashing down on me. Tom was _dead_? No…there had to be something I missed.

"I know this is very sudden," Gustav continued, "but…it was as much a shock for us as it is for you now."

"But we saw Tom up onstage!" Christie protested.

I didn't know if it was just my imagination, but Bill seemed to sob louder at Christie's statement.

"That wasn't Tom," Georg explained. His eyes darted as if gesturing toward the kitchen, where a man sat at a table. He was a buff guy, in his early or mid-twenties, and had long black cornrows. Although it was a bit difficult to tell onstage, it was blatantly obvious up close that he wasn't Tom. Georg continued: "That was Dimitri. He's a replacement."

I stared in dismay at the bassist. How could they just replace Tom? Even in the music industry, that sounded totally selfish and insensitive. Tom was more than a guitarist; he was a human being, a loving brother, Bill's other half.

I shook my head in disbelief, then made my way into the living room—Bill had apparently acknowledged my presence and was looking at me with both surprise and desperation. I snaked my fingers around his hand and whispered: "Bill, baby, I'm so sorry. I had no idea…"

The singer gripped my hand tightly and squeezed more tears out of his eyes. Normally I would have wiped them away with my fingers, but his cheeks were already completely soaked and stained black. He opened his mouth, letting his jaw hang for a brief moment before answering me. "H-Holly…you don't know how much it means to see you again. Ever since Tom—" He broke down in mid-sentence, and I pulled him closer to me, embracing him in a comforting hug and quietly shushing him.

We sat there for several minutes in silence. Once I was sure Bill had calmed down enough to talk, I whispered: "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

—Bill Kaulitz—

I nuzzled my head in Holly's shoulder, crying pitifully. The brunette girl hugged me tighter and rubbed my back as she let me ruin her shirt with my runny makeup.

When I felt my sobs weaken and my tears subside, Holly asked: "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

I thought for a moment. It would be hard for me to recount what happened, but I felt like I had to tell Holly. She had helped me out in the past and maybe, just maybe she could help me through this. But when I looked behind me, I saw everyone staring straight at us—Dimitri, the G's, Tobi, and that other girl that came in with Holly. "Um…can I tell you in my room?"

The brunette girl nodded, and together we walked through the hallway to my bedroom. I plopped onto my bed as Holly shut the door, and then she sat beside me. "You know you don't have to tell me if it's too much for you, right?"

I shook my head. "I have to tell you." When Holly nodded in understanding, I continued. "I don't actually remember much of what happened. The story I heard was that Tom was at a bar, picking up girls as usual." I smirked, but nostalgia brought the tears back. Holly gently took hold of my arm as if in preparation for embracing me in another hug. "As he was walking out, a man drove up in his car, jumped out, stabbed my brother repeatedly till he was dead, stuffed his body in his car and drove off." My tears spilled over, and my voice cracked. "When I got the call, I ran to the bar as fast as I could, but all that was left was a pool of my brother's blood surrounded by police tape and crowd of frightened bystanders." I sobbed and, as expected, Holly wrapped her arms around my waist and started rocking me from side to side.

I was overcome with a strong sense of familiarity as we sat there, together, for the first time in a year. I needed her now more than ever, and it was a pure miracle that she came back at such a critical time in my life. Ever since Tom's death, I completely forgot how much I missed her, how much I wanted her by my side. And now, as she leaned into me and rocked me like my mom used to do when I was little, it felt as if a prayer had been answered.

"Holly…"

"Yes, Bill?" The brunette girl looked up at me.

"Did I ever tell you about Tom's greatest joke?"


	6. It's My Life

**Chapter 5**

—Bill Kaulitz Memory—

Tom and I were twelve years old, and our band was just starting to become known. Still young teens, we all had short hair, except for Tom who had began sporting Jamaican dreadlocks. Amidst songwriting for our newest single, we were pulled aside for an interview. A middle-aged man with huge, black-framed glasses sat amongst us on a beige couch and started questioning us on our newfound fame. I didn't remember much of the interview, but there was one moment I will never forget.

"So what is the name of your newest single?" the man asked.

"Um, _It's My Life_," Tom replied.

I, along with the G's, burst into laughter. _It's My Life_ was the number one single in Germany at the time, so it was only natural that my comical brother would joke about it with an interviewer. But the man didn't realize Tom was being funny, and wore a confused expression as he watched all of us cracking up.

"Really?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No," Tom replied when he collected himself.

The interviewer, still confused, looked around at the rest of us. It took me about a minute to cease laughing, and my stomach hurt when I finally managed to calm down. I looked over at Tom, who was still laughing at his own joke. I loved his sense of humor, and I could always count on him to lift my spirits.

As we were walking back out toward the car, Tom started singing _It's My Life_ as if we wrote it. The rest of us laughed even harder.

"_Bitte_, Tom, give it a rest," I pleaded when my stomach became even sorer.

"Did I make your day, _bruder_?" he asked.

"You sure did," I replied.

My twin patted me on the back. "Then my work here is done."


	7. Shopping

**Chapter 6**

—Holly Wainright—

As I walked alone through the abandoned town, I became conscious of someone around. Curiously, I jogged around in the labyrinth of old buildings until I saw a figure huddled in the alleyway. I could hear him moaning in pain, and quickly I rushed to his aid.

When he picked his head up, I realized with a jolt that it was Tom. "Holly…help me…"

"Tom…you're alive!" I knelt down next to him, excited to get back to the bus and show Bill.

But the guitarist continued to glare at me with extreme fear in his eyes. "Not for long; I need help!"

"With what?" I asked. But before he could answer, I woke up.

My eyes flew open, and I found myself lying in Bill's bed, the singer asleep beside me. I was hit by a wave of sadness—it was just a dream. Tom was really dead.

I felt Bill stir, and together we exited his room and walked to the kitchen. I noticed the G's were already awake, and Christie was talking to them a mile a minute. I smirked, amused at my friend's tireless energy, and she seemed even more hyper now that she was with her favorite band.

Bill followed me a little ways toward the kitchen, but as soon as Dimitri came into view, he practically ran into the living room. I gave him a funny look, but decided not to pursue him. I had an idea as to why he was so hostile toward Tom's impersonator; he didn't owe me an explanation.

Christie noticed Bill's hasty exit and turned to me. "What was that about?"

"Bill hasn't been feeling himself lately," I reminded her. When I sat at the table, I decided to change the subject. "So, what are you guys doing today?"

"We might stop somewhere to go shopping," Georg explained. "I need some new shoes, and Bill needs more black hair dye."

"And more makeup," Gustav laughed.

I looked over at Christie, who was staring longingly toward the living room. "You know Holly, when I first came here, I expected to get to hang out with Bill. He is my favorite, you know." A shy smile tugged on her mouth.

"I do know, Christie," I replied. "And I will do everything I can to cheer him up enough to at least talk to you. Who knows? Maybe you can help me comfort him through these tough times."

My friend turned to me, her eyes alive with excitement. "Really?" But then she suddenly grew uncertain. "Do you think he'll like me?"

"Why wouldn't he?" I asked. "You have such a sweet personality."

"And you're friends with Holly," Georg added. "Any friend of Holly's is a friend of ours."

Christie looked like she was about to shed tears of joy. "Awesome!" She turned to Tom's lookalike. "What are you doing today, Dimitri?"

"I might just hang around here," he replied. "David specifically told me not to be seen with the band outside of concerts because I don't look enough like Tom up close; the fans will know I'm a fluke."

Christie raised an eyebrow. "David?"

"Our manager," Gustav answered.

Christie nodded in understanding, but there was something that bothered me. "How long do you plan to do this? Eventually people will find out the truth; they'll know that Tom is dead and that Dimitri is a fake."

Georg shrugged. "We'll just keep leading people on until we're caught. It wasn't our idea, mind you; it was David's. He was the one who hired Dimitri to stand in for Tom." The brunette man sighed. "Our manager is a nice man, but sometimes he loses reason and does crazy things to keep Tokio Hotel together."

I raised an eyebrow. "He's trying to keep you together? But that's my job!"

Gustav laughed. "David was just buying us time, I guess. But now that you're here, you can perform miracles like you did last time and bring the band together once again. You even brought backup!" He held his arm out, gesturing to Christie.

Christie started bouncing in her seat. "Oh my god! You mean I get to help Tokio Hotel? This is the greatest thing that's ever happened!" She threw her arms around me. "Thank you, Holly! Thank you, thank you!"

I gently nudged my friend away when I heard noises coming from the living room. Peering around the corner, I saw a TV flickering in the corner and a sickly-looking Bill glowering at it. I strained my eyes at the television and heard what sounded like a German reality show, but when I took a closer look I realized that the characters were younger versions of the band.

"He's watching episodes of Tokio Hotel TV," Christie whispered from behind me.

"He's been doing that a lot lately," Georg explained. "I think he seeks comfort merely in seeing Tom's face on a TV screen."

I looked back at my singer. "He doesn't seem comforted; he looks kind of irritated if you ask me."

The bassist shrugged. "Well, he does it anyway. I guess watching our old documentaries is the closest he can get to Tom. You have to feel bad for him; he really misses his brother."

Christie tried desperately to change the subject. "So, you guys said something about shopping?"

**...**

"Georg, which one did you say Bill likes?" Christie asked as she weeded through bottles of hair dye.

"Here, let me see…" the brunette man answered as he made his way over to my friend.

My mind was in a haze as I plucked tubes of liquid eyeliner from the shelf. Ever since we left the tour bus, I couldn't stop thinking about Bill. Those beautiful eyes, that shining face…they have been destroyed since Tom's death. I wanted to do whatever possible to see him happy again.

"It's this one." The sound of Gustav's voice snapped me from my thoughts as he took a tube of eyeliner from my grasp. "We might want to get a few of these; most of the eyeliner he uses is wasted by his incessant crying."

I reached up toward the shelf for more makeup, but slowly I lowered my hand. My eyes fell to the floor, and I felt like every last trace of energy had been drained from my being.

"Holly, are you alright?" Gustav asked, concern in his voice.

I looked up at my blond friend. "Gustav, ever worry about Bill?"

"Constantly," he replied, rubbing my shoulder. "But he'll move on…eventually. He just needs time to heal."

I didn't know if it was just my imagination, but Gustav didn't sound like he believed his own statement. It led me to wonder if what Bill was going through was something he could actually recover from. Will he ever see the light of day?

—Bill Kaulitz—

I glared at the TV the whole time, my sour face growing more intense whenever I saw myself playing, laughing, goofing off with Tom. There was one scene in which we were fighting; I flinched every time I heard myself call Tom an idiot, whereas he merely pointed out that I had made a mistake and that it was my problem. How could I have been so immature? More tears came to my eyes, and I wished with all my heart that I could fight with Tom—at least he'd still be here.

"Bill, do you want some lunch?" Dimitri called from the kitchen.

I felt myself grow hot with seething rage at the sound of that wretched man's voice. "No!"

"Are you sure?" The mockery of my brother appeared in the doorway, and I could barely contain myself. "You haven't eaten in days, and you were skinny to begin with."

I turned around on the couch. "Leave me alone!"

Dimitri said nothing, but exited the room. I already had extreme nausea when Tom died, and the arrival of his lookalike only made things worse. He told me he felt bad for me, but how could he? He had my brother's job and was making a ton of money just by acting like my deceased twin. He was completely insensitive, and so was David for hiring him in the first place. No one can replace Tom; when will everyone see that?

After a while, my mind drifted back to Holly. She had done so much for me as well as my friends in the past, and now she was back. I didn't know how the brunette girl could help me through my depression, but I had a feeling she'd perform some miracle and make everything right again.

She's done it before.


	8. The Great Oak

**Chapter 7**

—Bill Kaulitz Memory—

The day was bright and sunny, not a cloud in the vivid blue sky. The breeze was nice and the weather was perfect; Tom and I sat beneath a great oak tree. We always came out here on beautiful days, and usually we were able to come up with some good songs under that massive tree.

Tom was plucking away on his acoustic guitar, and I was watching him without a care in the world. He could feel my gaze, and he knew I was smiling as he played a string of notes that he thought sounded good.

Suddenly, he stopped and turned toward me. "What do you think, Billa?"

I nodded. "I like it."

My brother played a few more notes, then he attached them to his first string of notes and just kept adding more on. Pretty soon he was playing a full song. He closed his eyes and let the music take him away. I found myself considering lyrics to the song, and I started singing in sync to the melody of the guitar. Tom opened his eyes and looked at me, and stopped playing for a brief second to pick up the yellow notepad beside me and drop it in my lap.

"Write that down," he told me, an enthusiastic smile stretched across his face.

I scribbled lyrics on the paper and Tom picked the tune back up. I loved days like this, sitting beneath a giant oak tree with my brother by my side. It was so peaceful; no screaming fans or bodyguards or managers to bother us. It was just two brothers, filling the quiet atmosphere with uplifting music. Sometimes when I was singing onstage, I could close my eyes and drown out the sounds of screaming fangirls and blaring instruments, bring myself back to that great oak where the song was created. I couldn't think of anything I'd rather do than spend time there with Tom, and I couldn't imagine those wonderful times ever coming to an end.


	9. Worry

**Chapter 8**

—Holly Wainright—

Dinner was spent in silence, the atmosphere filled merely with the sound of silverware clanging against plates as we filled our quiet mouths with linguine Alfredo. Dimitri filled the empty space at the table that Tom had left—in the corner of my eye, I could have believed that he _was_ Tom, but in plain sight there was no hiding the square face and buff chest that Tom could only dream of having. Bill's seat was completely empty, the occupier having moved to the living room couch to watch bittersweet memories on DVD. Christie, being her talkative self, was the one to speak up. "Is Bill going to be okay?"

Georg sighed. "We don't know, Christie. He's been like this for months now, long before this tour began. Ever since he first got the message, he's become a different person completely. He yells at people all the time, breaks down randomly and has crying fits, and spends hours a day shut away from everyone else." The brunette bassist turned toward the living room doorway. "I'm surprised he's made it this far; he seems to return to normal during a concert, but only for the course of the time he's onstage. After that, he's just…lost."

Christie's eyes were locked on the living room entrance, tears of sympathy rolling down her face. I snaked my arm around her waist and pulled her close for comfort, and she looked at me like every dream she'd ever had was crushed. I looked around and realized that Gustav was on the verge of tears, removing his glasses in preparation, and Dimitri had his head in his hands. I could have sworn Georg's eyes were sparkly with tears, but he turned his head away too quickly for me to be sure.

"Well, it seems like Bill isn't the only one suffering here," I pointed out. "And I'm going to make sure that Tokio Hotel gets back on its feet."

Our grief was cut short by the sound of the tour bus's door opening, and we all whirled around to see Tobi entering the vehicle. Following the bodyguard was a man with a build similar to Dimitri's: broad shoulders, square jaw, sunken cheeks and bulging cheekbones. He held a clipboard in one arm and had a pencil wedged behind his ear and blanketed by his thin brown hair. Tobi gestured to him to look in the living room, and the man's eyes narrowed in concern.

"Who's that?" Christie asked.

"That's our manager David," Gustav replied.

"Why have I never seen him before?" I wondered aloud.

Georg shrugged. "Maybe because he didn't come in to check on us as often last time you were here. He's been coming in a lot lately, especially because of Bill."

"Alright guys…" David started toward the kitchen table, but stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me dead on, his sharp eyes piercing my core and giving me a chill. His head lifted toward the G's. "Who are these girls?"

"It's a long story," Georg explained. "I'll tell you later. Now what—"

"How long are they gonna be here?" the manager persisted.

"As long as it takes," Gustav replied.

David gave the blond man a funny look.

"We'll explain later," Dimitri promised. "What did you want to tell us?"

"Uh…" The man glanced around for a few moments, confused, then collected himself. He held out his clipboard and announced: "I cancelled our last show in Milwaukee. I can't stand to see Bill in this state, not even if it's the last show of the tour. We're all headed to the airport tomorrow, and then it's back to Germany." When David looked around and noticed everyone staring at him like deer caught in headlights, he continued: "I know this is sudden; I just think it's for the better. So get some rest, and we'll all be home soon."

When the two men left, everyone looked at one another with unspoken confusion. Finally, Georg broke the ice. "Like I said, he's weird. But he has good intentions; maybe he has an idea on how to help Bill."

I noticed Christie becoming heavily disappointed. "Does this mean we won't be able to help Tokio Hotel after all?"

I stared at my friend in disbelief. "Who ever said that?" I turned to the guys. "We can still help, right? All we have to do is persuade Tobi and David to let us stay."

"It's fine with us," Gustav agreed. His mouth pulled into a smirk. "And I'm sure Bill would love it, too."

My heart fluttered. Bill was such a sweetheart, especially around me. I couldn't blame him, though; he appreciated everything I had done for him in the past, and he was probably relying on me now to help him through the loss of his brother. I looked down at my half-eaten plate and asked: "Speaking of Bill, is he going to eat any dinner?"

"Highly unlikely," Dimitri replied. "His eating schedule has gotten knocked way off since Tom's death. Sometimes he'll go days without eating."

A sudden wave of fear started clawing at me. "WHAT?"

"We've tried to make him eat," Gustav added. "We've even force-fed him, but it usually ends in Bill's vomit all over his clothes and the floor. We've taken him to the hospital, but they couldn't cure him; he is so psychologically unstable that he's beyond help."

"He'll starve himself to death!" I screamed.

Georg grabbed my wrist, his beefy hand rock-hard against my weak arm. "Holly, calm down. As scary as it sounds, he hasn't experienced anything lethal."

"Not yet, anyway," I insisted. "Think about it, Georg. He may seem physically okay now, but this is still a serious matter. We have to find a way to feed him without his stomach rejecting everything."

"How?" Dimitri demanded. "Whenever I offer him something to eat, he screams at me."

I yanked my hand out of the bassist's grasp and thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should try a method other than force. It seems to me that Bill might be too traumatized to eat, and you guys aren't making it any easier for him. Force-feeding is only asking for trouble, and he just doesn't like Dimitri so of course he's going to yell at him and refuse. Maybe if we enticed him to eat, he'd have an easier time."

The men stared first at me and then each other, carefully thinking over what I just said. I realized with a brief pang of worry that they might have never even considered the careful approach, and just went right to shoving food in the singer's mouth.

Without another word, I got up from my seat and walked over to the cabinet, pulling out a fresh plate. I scooped out some linguine Alfredo from the massive bowl in the center of the table—the dangling noodles glistening in the dimly-lit kitchen and dripping with mouthwatering sauce—and plopped it onto the plate. Steam still floated off the pasta, touching my nose and begging to be eaten.

I took the plate full of food into the living room, which was still dark except for the flickering light of the TV screen. "Bill?"

There was no response, and I approached the lump on the couch to the discovery that he was asleep—his eyelids were draped gently over his eyes, and he looked surprisingly peaceful. Setting the plate down on the coffee table, I knelt beside the singer only to be struck with concern. I noticed that his t-shirt, which was usually tight around his tiny torso, looked so baggy that it reminded me of Tom's clothes. Slowly, as to not wake Bill up, I stuck my forefinger under his shirt and pulled it up. I felt a slight adrenaline rush when the singer grunted in his sleep, but thankfully he didn't wake up. When I saw his torso underneath, however, I had to hold back a gasp of shock. I could see every rib in his chest, and his collarbones protruded unnaturally far—he looked like nothing more than a skeleton with a thin layer of skin stretched over. The emaciated man almost looked dead; but after further examination I was relieved to find he was still warm, and when I leaned in close I could feel his gentle breath against my face.

I sighed and whispered: "Please get well, Bill—for me." I stroked his soft black hair once or twice before leaving the room and anticipating a long, sleepless night.


	10. Weak

**Chapter 9**

—Holly Wainright—

The forest was dark and cold, the trees brushing against each other in the wind. The sky was completely coated with clouds, and drizzle stung me in the face as I walked through. I had a feeling the rain would thicken, and I was anxious to get back to the hotel—wherever it was.

"Bill?" I shouted. "Georg? Gustav? Christie?"

My booming voice ricocheted off of the trees, bouncing around like rubber as if mocking my loneliness. I was the only one in the woods, and yet I still searched desperately for a sign of life.

"Bill? Georg? Gustav? Christie?"

The rain became heavier, and I started to hear thunder. I grew extremely nervous; I was surrounded by trees. What if lightning struck?

"Bill! Georg! Gustav! Christie!"

Suddenly, I saw a figure in the distance. When I ran toward it, I realized it was a man with cornrows and baggy clothes sitting beneath a massive oak tree. "Dimitri?"

But when the man looked up at me, it wasn't Dimitri.

"Tom!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing out here?"

"Holly, please help," he pleaded. "Time is running out."

"Why, Tom?" I demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Hurry, Holly…"

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash. A white light blinded me for a split second, and I opened my eyes to a horrific sight; lightning had split through the oak tree and pierced Tom's body. I screamed as the man with the cornrows growled in pain and shook till the lightning ceased, and suddenly he lay on the ground with blood gushing from his mouth.

"TOM! NO!"

I knelt beside Tom's motionless body, but when I blinked a few times to push back tears, I was even more frightened to find that Tom was no longer there; he had been replaced with Bill's body, equally lifeless and just as bloody.

"Bill…" I found myself in so much dismay that I could barely speak. "Bill, don't leave me!" I fell over the singer's bloodstained torso, sobbing and shaking.

My eyes flew open, and I gasped in surprise. After a few seconds of disorientation, I realized with relief that the whole thing was a dream. I lay on what I believed to be Bill's bed, and I looked down to the discovery of a dog licking my hand.

"Scotty, down!"

The dog pushed itself off the bed and retreated to the corner of the room, where I saw Bill sitting on an ottoman. I smiled at the sight of the singer as his dog jumped onto his lap and scooted under him, begging for a belly rub. But the longer I stared at Bill, the more it became apparent that he was extremely weak. His cheeks were sunken in, he was tremendously pale, and his tiny clothes still looked baggy and oversized—it appeared that he was having trouble merely sitting up.

"Bill…"

"Are you okay, Holly?" the singer interrupted. "You were mumbling and fidgeting in your sleep. It sounded like you were having a nightmare."

I sat up, trying to trace my memory in my aching head. Slowly the dream came back to me, just as scary as when I had it. "I—I'll explain later, maybe over breakfast. But…how long have you been in here?"

"About twenty minutes," he replied. "I wanted to see if you were up."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Bill smiled shyly. "So I could thank you for the linguine."

…

With one arm around his waist and another holding his arm around my neck, I carried Bill back to his usual spot on the living room couch, the dog—Scotty was his name?—following close behind as if making sure Bill was secure in my grasp. I was exceedingly nervous the entire walk; I felt every one of the singer's protruding ribs rubbing against my hand, as well as the sharp bumps in his spine sawing at my arm. It felt as if one false move could end in me crushing Bill into a pile of dust on the floor. The singer was so weak that he couldn't even walk, and I wondered how he managed to get off the couch in the first place.

On the way to the living room, we inevitably passed Dimitri, and Bill let out a moan. I picked up the pace towards the singer's couch, just barely catching a glance at David watching us pass by.

Bill sighed in relief when I finally got him on the sofa. "Thanks, Holly." Once he got settled, Scotty approached and demanded more attention, nuzzling his master in the neck with his shiny wet nose. Bill slung an arm around the dog's head and started scratching him behind the ear.

"Do you want me to get you some breakfast?" I asked.

The singer pressed his lips together, unsure. "Maybe."

"I'll bring you something," I decided, "and you can eat it when you feel like it."

Bill smiled gratefully, and I made my way back into the kitchen. But before I could harvest some food, David approached me.

"Hey," he greeted. "Holly, right?"

I nodded.

The manager smiled. "How did you do it?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Bill hasn't gone so long without crying when you came here," he explained. "So it's true, huh? The story of you saving the band members from different ordeals?" When I nodded again, David continued. "Bill really seems to like you. Your friend Christie asked, and you have my permission to join the band on their trip back to Germany."

"Both of us?" I asked.

The manager beamed. "Of course, if you want her to come. The more, the merrier."

I thanked him, then proceeded to fill a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon. I had a feeling that the only reason David wanted me to come with them back to Germany was because I kept Bill happy. But that alone was reason enough for me; Bill needed me, and I promised Christie I'd let her hang out with the band. We had even gotten prepared for such an occasion—we bought five outfits each at the mall the day before.

But there was another reason why I had to pursue the band: my dreams. I had been having so many nightmares about Tom, and they just kept getting scarier and more real. I had a horrid feeling they meant something, and I was anxious to figure out what.

"Are you okay, Holly?" Bill asked as I set his breakfast on the coffee table.

I looked back at the singer. It was ironic that he was the one asking that question; his face was bony and pale, and he was so weak he could barely move. I didn't remember him being like this when I first saw him a few days ago; I figured excessive moving around onstage and going days without eating may have altered his body or metabolism or something. And when he ate an entire plate of linguine, he just might have made himself sick.

"I'm fine," I replied.

The singer cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure? You seem bothered by something."

What I was bothered by was my recent dreams. As much as I wanted to tell Bill about it—especially considering how much he's shared with me about Tom—I was scared to. Bill was finally starting to cheer up after…months, apparently, and I was afraid that merely mentioning Tom's name might cause him to start crying again.

"It's nothing," I insisted. "Just a bit shaken by my nightmare."

Bill nodded, guessing he shouldn't question me further, and continued to caress his dog.


	11. Pain

**Chapter 10**

—Bill Kaulitz—

I glanced at Holly from the couch in which I lay. Her gaze was locked on the window, watching the mesmerizing clouds roll by from the view of Tokio Hotel's private jet. She had such a blatant expression of fear and worry, and yet she would tell me everything was fine. She was hiding something—but why?

The brunette girl's friend Christie was sitting on the couch across from me, giggling and conversing with Dimitri. I felt my anger return full force; how could that chick tolerate someone like him? I felt so alone; everyone around me—Holly, Christie, the G's, Tobi, David—saw him as a nice guy with a great personality and a hero that stepped in for Tom. I saw him as a lie, a copycat who only agreed to step in as a replacement for the fame and money that came with being a guitarist of Tokio Hotel.

Scotty, who lay sprawled on top of me, suddenly yelped; I didn't realize my anger had caused me to squeeze my dog's ear painfully.

"_Leider_, Scotty," I mumbled as I released his floppy ear from my grasp and resumed scratching it.

"We're landing in fifteen minutes," David announced from another room.

I sighed and threw my head back against the arm of my sofa. _Almost home…I'm almost home…_

Within minutes, the G's gathered all the luggage, and Dimitri went to collect his guitars. Holly knelt beside me in preparation for carrying me out, and Christie came over to see if she could help.

The plane landed and the doors opened. Tobi directed the other band members out first, who lugged bags and suitcases behind them like heavy tails. David grabbed a leash and clipped it to Scotty's collar, leading him out of the plane for me.

"Bill," Holly muttered. "Can you stand up?"

"I can try," I replied. I swung my spindly legs over the side of the couch and slowly pushed myself to a sitting position. My head was pounding painfully and my stomach was churning, but I forced myself to stand up. I pushed up on my legs, which shook violently under my weight, but I dared not take a step. My entire body felt sore and ready to drop, and I grabbed Holly's shoulder for support.

"Looks like he still needs help," Christie observed as she grasped my wrist and slung it over her shoulders. I noticed Holly roll her eyes in mild annoyance as she mimicked her friend with my other arm, and together they dragged me out of the plane and into the limo outside.

"So this is Germany?" Christie asked as we rode down the highway toward Hamburg.

"It sure is," Holly answered. "This place sure brings back memories—shopping with Tokio Hotel, saving half of them from dying…" I could tell she was trying to be funny, but Christie was the only one that laughed.

"Is that true?" Christie suddenly questioned. "Did you really save Georg's life?"

"Yep," Georg replied. "A crazy guy with a gun almost shot me, and she shoved me out of the way."

"And when you helped Gustav through his emotional problems or whatever?" she persisted.

"Yeah," Gustav mumbled shyly. "Times had been tough for me, but she was always by my side. She really helped me open up about the things that have happened to me and taught me to move on."

Holly's friend continued. "Didn't you also save Tom from—"

Christie suddenly cut herself off, her shocked eyes darting around the limo. My stomach flipped, and Holly was glaring at her. The G's just stared dumbfounded, as if unable to believe even Christie could make such a slipup.

"I mean…um…" she stuttered. "Sorry…"

I turned my aching head to stare out the window, trying to concentrate on keeping my food down. My half-digested breakfast started to feel like a bubbly pit of slime just waiting to explode, and I had to stretch myself straight to give my insides more room. As much as I tried to push the nostalgic thoughts away, my head was suddenly littered with images of Tom, and it only made me feel worse. I realized after a while that I was moaning, but I couldn't help it.

"_Oh, Gott_," Georg mumbled. "Bill isn't going to puke, is he?"

"No," I groaned. "We're almost there…"

The limo dropped me and Scotty off at my house, Holly and Christie following so that they could aid me; Holly helped me inside while Christie helped me with my dog. But the reminiscences only intensified as I set foot on the front porch. My vision was practically blinded with old flashbacks of Tom, and my memory caught every detail—his chocolate-brown eyes, his jet-black cornrows, his glossy lip piercing, his lively smile.

I was wheezing in agony when we made our way inside the house; so many old memories came down on me like a landslide. My Hamburg home was the last place I had seen Tom, and now this once-lively house only filled me with pain. Tears raided my eyes, and my stomach felt like it was on fire. I knew I couldn't take it anymore.

"Into the washroom!" I screamed. "NOW!"

When Holly heard the urgency in my voice, she half-carried-half-flung me into the washroom by the door. I scrambled desperately for the toilet and threw the lid up with a clang. Almost immediately, rancid mouthfuls of liquid eggs and bacon shot out of my mouth; the bathroom was soon filled with the sounds of grunting and splashing, and the acrid smell that my digested food emitted only made me vomit more—eventually my stomach ran out of food and started discarding sour bile.

It took me a while to notice Holly kneeling beside me, but I soon felt her rubbing my bony, withered back with her gentle hand. I remembered this very scenario from a year back—we were on the tour bus, and Tom had just called me off with words harsh enough to weaken my stomach and land me in the washroom for hours leaning over a toilet bowl. Holly was there to rub my back and whisper to me, and I couldn't remember being so comforted in my life.

"This can't go on, Bill," Holly muttered, her voice cracking as she came to the verge of crying.

When I was sure my stomach had returned, I responded. "I'm so sorry you have to see me like this, Holly. But I just can't function properly without Tom—he was everything to me, yet all I had left."

The brunette girl leaned in closer. "What do you mean?"

I sighed; of course I had never told her. "Tom wasn't the first family member I had ever lost, and the tragedy before my brother was hard enough to bear…"


	12. Shocking News

**Chapter 11**

—Bill Kaulitz Memory—

It started out as any normal day; the band was lazing around the house, enjoying their time off from touring. Tom was tuning his guitar, Georg was sleeping in his bedroom, and I was playing Xbox games with Gustav in the living room. But right when the level had ended and I had won—again!—the phone rang.

"I'll get it," I announced, making my way to the landline in the kitchen. I saw the caller ID was Tom's and my mom, and I quickly picked it up. "Hello?"

"Bill?"

I jolted when I heard my mom on the other end; she sounded like she was crying. "Mom, is everything alright?"

"I'm afraid not, Billa," she replied. "I just got a phone call that your father died."

My eyes widened, and I felt an incredible pain in my chest, as if my heart had been ripped out. Everything suddenly felt so unreal; she couldn't be serious!

I froze, dropping the phone. The loud clang of plastic against linoleum brought Tom rushing in.

"Bill, what happened?" he asked. When he looked down and saw the receiver on the floor, he quickly picked it up. "Hello? Hey, Mom…What's wrong?" After a few seconds, my brother's eyes grew wide. "What? No!" He shook his head in disbelief, and his eyes sparkled with welling tears. "No!" He sniffled. "Okay, see you then." He hung up.

"Tommy…" My chest was heaving, and tears were running down my cheeks on all sides.

Tom, whose tears had also spilled over, hugged me tightly. "It's okay, Billa. Everything will be fine…"

"What happened?" Gustav asked as he came in to see us crying in each other's arms.

"Our dad is dead," Tom replied. "The funeral is this Saturday."

The blond boy's eyes widened in disbelief. He turned away and shouted for Georg, as if he was having as much trouble as I was making sense of the situation.

**...**

The funeral was brief and concealed, but the news reached David, who gave us extended vacation from concerts and touring. I spent many hours alone in my room, singing to myself. At first, it was just some of our old songs, but soon I came up with new lyrics. When this happened, I quickly grabbed the yellow notepad and pen from under my pillow and scribbled the words down.

Once I got something going, I started reading the song to myself, trying to find a good melody to go with it. Even half-finished, the song carried me away, the lyrics enveloping me in a soothing manner. I must have underestimated how loud I was singing, because halfway through Tom appeared in my doorway.

I didn't have to explain anything; Tom took one look at me and ran off, returning with his acoustic guitar in hand. "What song are you working on, _bruder_?"

I nearly choked as I explained: "It's for Dad."

Tom nodded sympathetically and let me start singing. Once he got a feel for the tune, he tried to match it with his instrument. Before I knew it, Tom was tossing his head back and forth as he hit the strings of his guitar. We had worked out a melody, and I sang:

_I scream into the night for you_

_Don't make it true, don't jump_

_The lights will not guide you through_

_They're deceiving you, don't jump_

_Don't let memories go of me and you_

_The world is down there out of view_

The line _Please don't jump_ is where I got stuck. I choked back a sob, and the bittersweet memories that came with my song were too much. I lost my voice as emotions blocked my throat; my twin brother sensed this, and soon his guitar grew quiet.

When I could no longer hold my sobbing back, Tom set his acoustic guitar against the wall and extended his arms out to me. "Billa, come here."

I practically fell into my brother's arms, sobbing pitifully and ruining his shirt with my makeup-stained tears, which left tiny black splotches on his shoulder. Tom shushed me and rocked me back and forth, similar to how our mom did when we had nightmares as little kids. I realized then just how much I relied on my twin for comfort; he was like a father figure to me when we were away from home.

"I miss Dad too," Tom whispered in my ear. "But things will get better, I'm sure they will."

I sniffled. "How do you know that?"

My twin looked down at me and smiled. "Because we have each other."


	13. The Dreams Unfold

**Chapter 12**

—Holly Wainright—

I gently lifted Bill's head and positioned another pillow under him. The poor singer was as sick as ever; his cheekbones protruded so far that he looked old and withered, and he could barely move. He couldn't even lie on the couch anymore; he complained that it felt like lying on a pile of rocks, so I had to move him to his bed. I knew that he was dying, but there wasn't much that I could do. His stomach rejected close to everything; he had to eat in small portions to keep from vomiting, and that wasn't enough nutrition for his twenty-year-old body.

I jabbed a fork into a plate of macaroni and cheese that Christie had made, stirring it around to break up the noodles. When I scooped up some of the pasta and lifted it to Bill's mouth, he parted his lips so that I could slip the food inside. As I watched the singer chew weakly, tears filled my eyes and my hand grew shaky. I felt like I was feeding a hundred-year-old man that was near death.

"Bill," I whispered, my voice cracking as I cried. "I can't take it anymore. We have to take you to the doctor…the hospital…something…or you're going to die." I broke down into a fit of sobs; merely mentioning the unthinkable was too much for me.

Bill swallowed, then took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Holly. There's something seriously wrong with me, and I think it can't be helped."

I gasped at Bill's words. A dark wave of reality suddenly crashed into me like an ocean wave on a surfer—just looking at the singer now, I knew that he could die any second. My whole body began to shake, and my eyes were pouring tears. "No…no…"

The singer lifted his fingers and curled them around my hand. It felt like I was being touched by an icepack, and I only cried harder. "Holly, listen to me…" When I managed to collect myself and force my sobs back, he breathed in deeply. "When I said that Tom and I can't live without each other, I meant it literally. There's just something about him that…keeps me alive. If Tom's dead, my body just spirals out of control until I die."

I shook my head in disbelief and resumed sobbing. "It can't be…"

Tears rolled down the man's bony face, leaving shiny wet trails behind. "I'm sorry, Holly. I should have seen this coming; I was given a sign, but I dismissed it."

My sobbing slowed down, and much of my dismay was replaced with curiosity. "What sign?"

Bill took another deep breath. "About a week before Tom was murdered, I had a dream about him. I was walking through a multistory parking garage—similar to the one used in our music video for _Don't Jump_—and everything started off normally. But suddenly, I started hearing Tom's voice; he was calling my name. After a while, I realized that the building was completely covered in blood, and I ran through it, terrified. I eventually found Tom, but he was extremely frightened. I tried to encourage him out of the garage, but then he started coughing up blood and fell dead in front of me." Tears were now streaming down his face like a waterfall, and he looked ready to cry as hard as I did. "I had never been so scared in my life, even after I woke up. And yet I never imagined that it would become a reality."

My eyes grew wide, and I felt my heart swell with astonishment. As I offered Bill another scoop of macaroni, I expressed my shock as he began chewing. "Bill…I had the exact same dream before I met up with you again. Not only that, but I've been having similar dreams about Tom ever since." I proceeded to tell the singer about the dreams, all the while filling his mouth with cheesy noodles. His eyes were weak and half-closed, but full of curiosity as I told of the nightmare about the forest and the lightning storm. But when I got to the part about the oak tree, he grunted and gestured for me to stop.

I fell silent and allowed him to swallow his food, then he started: "You saw an oak tree?"

"Yeah," I replied. "It was massive, and really dark underneath."

"Did it have a huge dark knothole in one side?" he asked.

I strained my mind to dig out the images of the nightmare. I did notice a dark spot on the tree just behind Tom's head. "Yeah. Why?"

More tears spilled down Bill's face, and his eyes seemed to drift away toward the past. "There was an oak tree out in a field a few miles from our home when Tom and I were kids. We used to go there all the time and write songs. It was really peaceful there; not a sound to be heard. With that kind of tranquility, the music and lyrics just came to us. I don't think I've had any better memories of Tom than the ones spent at the great oak."

I sat there silently, taking in what Bill had just told me. There had to be some meaning to all this—most treasured memories, writing songs, a giant oak tree…what could it possibly mean?

"But I don't understand," Bill mumbled. "If Tom's dead, then why are you having such vivid dreams about him?"

I thought for a moment. My theory was a long shot, but I truly believed in it. "Maybe Tom's not dead."

The singer looked at me like I was crazy. "W-What?"

"Have the police found a body?" I asked.

Bill's eyes grew wide. "No…"

"Then maybe, just maybe, Tom's still alive." My heart started racing. As much as I hated it, I felt my body filling with hope. I wanted to deny the possibility for fear of being wrong, but I couldn't. Not with my singer's life at stake.

Bill shook his head. "I-I can't believe it, Holly. I just can't. Not after so many months of following the belief that he had been murdered."

I nodded in understanding. "Bill, I get it. And frankly, I doubt myself, too. But even if Tom _is_ dead, just ask yourself this: do you want to live the way you're living now? Do you want to starve yourself to death? Is that what Tom would want, or would he want you to keep going? Would he possibly want you to carry on with the band while he can't? Don't you think he might want you to be happy? Do you consider that he might want you to live? That _I_ might want you to live?"

Bill completely froze, all words lost. He almost looked like a statue, except for the weak rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"Just think about it," I concluded as I got up and started toward the door. "I'll see you in the morning…I hope."


	14. Silence of the Singer

**Chapter 13**

—Bill Kaulitz Memory—

It was the most exhausting tour of my life. I knew once I heard it was called the "1000 Hotels Tour" that I was in for some work. Somehow I had the feeling that they weren't kidding, that the tour was so busy that we would end up staying in a thousand hotels over the course of the month.

The first few shows were amazing. I was alive the entire time we were onstage; I skipped from one end of the stage to the other, girls screaming manically every which way with cameras and posters in the air. But when I found myself doing several concerts a day with no break, my throat started to hurt from singing so much.

During a show in Marseilles, France, I had just about reached my limit. My throat felt as if a cat was clawing at it, and sometimes my voice just stopped working. I found myself letting the audience sing more often, and I could tell that Tom noticed; he kept glancing at me with concern.

At the end of the fifteenth song in the set, I was spent. Dread formed a rock in my stomach at the realization that we still had six songs to go. But before I could start the next song, Tom approached me.

"What's the problem?" he asked, worried. "You don't sound so good."

"My voice is giving out," I complained, surprised by how hoarse my voice was.

"Alright," Tom sighed. "We can't have you hurting yourself, so just end it with one more song and let's call it a night."

If the situation were any less dire, I would have protested. But my throat was on fire, and I wasn't about to sing six more songs. Bracing myself for a surge of pain, I shouted over the screaming fans: "Okay, we'll wrap things up with one of my favorites…"

The ocean of girls before us screamed louder as I started singing, which only made it harder to strain my voice. It was three minutes of pure agony, even with the audience to fill in for me.

When we exited the stage, David was there to ask us what happened.

"Bill's got a frog in his throat," Tom explained. "He needs some rest."

Despite Tom voicing his concerns, we climbed into the tour bus and before we knew it, we were on our way to our next concert in Lisbon, Portugal.

When I woke up the next morning, the fire in my throat had been extinguished, and I felt a bit better about the upcoming concert. After I slipped on some clothes and worked my hair into its signature lion mane look, I made my way to the kitchen for breakfast.

"Bill, are you sure you're up for the concert tonight?" Tom asked as I started collecting sandwich ingredients.

"I'm fine," I insisted. "My voice feels better today."

Tom said nothing, but continued to stare at me worriedly from behind his BLT.

I preserved my voice the entire day, allowing it to heal as much as possible. I was determined to make the show that evening, as well as the next one, and all after that. All I had to do was keep from speaking the entire day, and then be careful during the concerts.

But my plan came crashing down that very night, backstage, as I did vocal warm-ups. I didn't have much of a problem with the lower notes, but I raised my voice higher and higher, and eventually it cracked. The others noticed and glanced at me, Tom holding my gaze the longest.

I sighed, exasperated, and cleared my throat to try again. But the second time, my voice cracked even lower on the scale, and the agonizing pain returned to my throat. Instantly I grabbed my neck and started swallowing my saliva in an attempt to put the fire back out.

"That's it, Bill, you can't do the show tonight," Tom insisted.

"But…the fans…" I croaked.

"The fans can wait, Bill," Tom persisted. "They'd understand if something was wrong. Besides, you sound worse than usual after a string of tough concerts. I really think you should see a doctor."

I sighed again, this time in defeat. My brother was right; my voice _was_ worse this time. I watched helplessly as Tom walked over to David to discuss the issue. After an exchange of mumbling too quiet for me to comprehend, our manager nodded in agreement and sent Tobi—our bodyguard—over to escort me out. Right before I was taken out of the building, I saw Tom and the G's make for the stage. I heard the sound of a thousand girls screaming, but within seconds it died to near silence; I assumed they were confused by my absence.

I heard Tom's voice, muffled from so far away. "Tokio Hotel fans, I am sorry to announce that there will not be a show tonight. Bill is sick, and he is being taken back to Germany to see a specialist."

Murmurs of concern grew in what I could hear of the eerily silent crowd, but I heard nothing more as the door slammed shut behind me and I followed Tobi through the chilly night towards the car.

**...**

A cyst. A cyst had invaded my vocal chords, and was the culprit of my singing problems. The doctors told me it was likely due to singing so excessively that my throat had become infected, and the ulcer was a result of not treating it.

Gott, _how could I have been so foolish_? I wondered. _Tom was right, and I should have listened to him. This never would have happened if I had taken better care of my voice_.

And now, here I lay, in a hospital bed. My whole neck felt sore from the larynx surgery, and I had never felt so crummy. No amount of painkillers or sleeping pills could help me, not with emotional pain reinforcing my physical pain.

I turned my head as a nurse led someone in my room. Something came alive within my core when I realized that person was Tom. When the nurse left to leave us alone, Tom sat beside me and whispered: "_Halo, kleinen bruder_."

I wanted to respond. Of all the confrontations I've had with my brother, this one was so dramatic somehow; I had to tell him I was sorry and that I should have listened to him and promise him I would act differently next time. But I couldn't speak; the surgery had cost me my voice. My throat only hurt more as tears filled my eyes whenever I thought about the possibility that I may never sing again.

My twin wiped away a stray tear with his fingers. "I wish that this couldn't have happened to you, Billa. I'm so pissed that we had to do such a long and overworked tour, but David promised he'd make sure we didn't get such a thing again."

I turned my head to my brother, my sore neck burning immensely. My voice may have been crippled, but that wasn't about to stop me. I mouthed the words: _Tom, I'm sorry…I'm sorry…_

"Don't be sorry, _bruder_," Tom insisted. "It wasn't your fault. I just hope you'll be able to sing again. But nonetheless, voice or no voice, you'll always be my little brother—and I'll always be here, by your side, when you need it most."

_Tommy…_

"Yes, Billa?"

I struggled slightly as I tried to mouth the words: _I love you_.

My twin snaked his fingers around my arm and held it tightly. "I love you, too. _Ich liebe dich für immer_."

We spent the next several moments—hours or minutes, I wasn't quite sure—in silence, letting the energy that linked us together flow back and forth. I realized just how foolish I was being the last few days—who cares if I never sang again? I could learn to live without it in due time, but not my twin. Tom was everything to me; I'd destroy my voice if it meant keeping him with me. I'd give my life for him, and I knew he'd do the same for me.

My voice did return, and I was even back onstage in a matter of months. It took a month of vocal rehab and all the support I could get, but my singing career lived to see another day. When we embarked on the second part of our "1000 Hotels Tour" later in the year, I was constantly pumped and full of energy. It was partially fueled by the fans, who seemed to be screaming louder; I figured it was because they were happy that I had recovered. But for the most part, my energy came from Tom—all the support he had given me, all the brotherly love he had passed, all the positive energy he had filled me with came rushing back to me. Whenever I skipped over to him onstage, I sang extra loud as if to tell him: _Thank you_. When I did this, he looked up from his guitar for a split second and smiled at me, as if to say: _You're welcome._


	15. Breakfast

**Chapter 14**

—Holly Wainright—

I awoke the next morning to the sound of sizzling bacon, and the smell of it found my nostrils seconds later. When I followed the mouthwatering aroma to the kitchen, Christie was managing a skillet with red strips of shriveled bacon bathing in bubbly oil. Off to the side on the counter was a coffee maker surrounded by white mugs, and there was an open package of powdered doughnuts beside it.

"Need any help, Christie?" I asked.

"No, I'm good," my friend replied. "But you can take a cup of coffee and a doughnut to Bill while I finish breakfast." When I grabbed a mug and started pouring coffee, she added: "And for God's sake, put some cream in that stuff! He needs some meat on his bones."

I took the piping hot mug in one hand and balanced a plate with a doughnut on it with the other hand. When I wandered into Bill's room, I saw the singer sitting up in his bed. His shirt was off, and I could see a horrifically large amount of ribs—more ribs than I knew a person even had. His spine protruded all the way from his neck and disappeared down into his pajama pants, appearing as a queue of painful-looking bumps. His head looked huge against his tinier-than-ever frame. With Scotty's head under one spindly arm, he was staring out the window. It reminded me frighteningly of when he lay unmoving on the couch watching Tokio Hotel TV on the tour bus.

"Bill," I started, "I brought you some coffee, and Christie's cooking breakfast when you're ready for it."

The singer didn't budge; it was like talking to an emaciated statue. But when I set the mug and plate down on his mahogany nightstand, I almost jolted by his sudden voice.

"I've been thinking about what you said."

Carefully, I approached the bed. "And?"

Bill sighed. "I'm really sorry about how I've been acting. I promise I'll never do it again."

I crawled onto the withered man's bed and settled on the opposite side of his dog. I started rubbing at his bumpy chest, ever so softly as to not hurt him. "I know this is going to be really hard for you, I get that. But I guarantee you that once you learn to let go of the grief and enjoy the memories that you still have, you can be happy again." I smiled. "Tom would love for you to be happy with what you have."

A tear betrayed itself upon Bill's bony cheek. "There's so much I'm going to miss."

I nuzzled Bill's shoulder comfortingly before getting up and leaving him in peace. I made my way back out into the kitchen, where Christie had the fridge open and was rooting desperately through its contents. "Hey Holly, there aren't any eggs in here. Could you make a run to the store really quick?"

"Christie, we just got here," I retorted. "I don't know where the store is."

"Bill said there should be a minimart right up the road," my friend explained. "Just keep walking left of here and you should find it."

"Fine." I grabbed my purse and made my way out the front door. The morning had a slight chill to it as I made my way down the sidewalk, not knowing whether or not I was going in the right direction or how long it would take me to get there. But eventually, I saw a building with a huge sign out front; the lettering was in German but it looked somewhat like a mart to me.

When I opened the door, my beliefs were confirmed. The tiny building looked twice as big on the inside, and it was chocked full of shelves in the middle with freezers along the wall. I quickly made my way to the back where the open fridge was and picked out a carton of eggs, then strode back to the front to pay. I handed the lady at the checkout my credit card as she bagged the carton, and she asked me something in German. Not knowing what the hell she just said, I quickly followed the smile-and-nod rule.

The minute I set foot outside the store, I heard the familiar jingling of my ringtone. After digging through my cluttered purse and retrieving my phone, I flicked it open. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was Christie's and she sounded horribly frightened. "Holly, get back here now! Something's wrong with Bill!"


	16. Sleeping Pills

**Chapter 15**

—Christie Ross—

I was rooting through the fridge to the point of shoving Tupperware and jars all over the place. Aggravation started to gnaw on me, and I let loose an exasperated sigh. Who the hell doesn't always have a carton of eggs, I wondered?

I cocked my head upward when Holly came into the kitchen from Bill's room. "Hey, Holly, there aren't any eggs in here. Could you make a run to the store really quick?"

My friend rolled her eyes at me. "Christie, we just got here. I don't know where the store is."

"Bill said there should be a minimart right up the road," I told her. "Just keep walking left of here and you should find it."

"Fine," Holly said, grabbing her purse and leaving the kitchen for the front door.

The bacon finished cooking, so I lay it on a paper towel to soak up some of the excess grease. After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down at the table and waited. I heard a door open, and Bill nudged Scotty out of his room and shut his door. The poor dog looked back for a few seconds, confused as to why he had been abandoned. But then he proceeded to skip into the kitchen, clicking and shuffling as his claws hit the linoleum flooring.

Minutes passed, and still no sign of Holly with the eggs. Had she gotten lost? Was she sidetracked by someone? I giggled at the possibility that she had stopped and started hitting on a guy along the way, but I quickly dismissed the idea; Holly was way closer to flirty with Bill than any guy I had ever seen her with, and I could never help but feel jealous whenever she lay a hand on him. Then again, she was always really social and touchy-feely with other people.

I was yanked away from my fantasies when Scotty suddenly ran out of the kitchen and back to Bill's door. Barking loudly and whimpering desperately, he started clawing at the door as if he knew something was wrong. Knowing dogs had that kind of sixth sense, I followed Scotty over to the door and opened it. It was unlocked—thank God—and I made my way inside.

Bill was lying on his bed in pure agony. His sobs jolted his chest and his face was reddening with damage from his tears. My stomach felt as if I had been hit by a car—this wasn't normal for Bill, even in his current state.

"Bill, what's wrong?" I demanded when I approached his bed.

The singer looked at me with his beautiful but bloodshot eyes. In between sobs, he managed to say: "Tell Holly…she's been a…good…friend…"

I shook my head in disbelief. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew there was danger. Scotty was yapping at full volume now, as if trying to match the deafening pounding of blood in my ears. I sprinted back into the kitchen and grabbed my phone, dialing Holly's number. The three seconds it took for my friend to answer felt like hours.

"Hello?"

I wasted no time. "Holly, get back here now! Something's wrong with Bill!" Out of panic, I hung up before Holly could answer. I realized it could be too late by the time she made it back—I had to call an ambulance.

"911 emergency," the dispatcher greeted.

I stuttered over my words as I described what happened, but I couldn't find the time to make myself even sound calm. Bill was dying, and I knew it. "Um, yes, a friend of mine is hurt and I think he's dying." I never thought of Bill much as a friend since I hadn't known him as long as Holly, but there was no time to give the whole story.

"Your friend is hurt and you think he's dying?" the dispatcher repeated.

"Yes," I replied, rushing back into the singer's room to assess him. I noticed with dread that his sobs were becoming quieter and his eyes were growing dull. "He's having trouble breathing, and he's fading really quickly."

"Is he choking on something?" the lady asked.

"No!" I replied, my annoyance levels rising. "His breathing is getting weaker!"

"Okay, ma'am, I need you to calm down," said the dispatcher, making me even angrier. "Did he overdose on drugs?"

I gasped in shock. "I-I don't know…wait!" I noticed a small container peeking out from under Bill's bed and picked it up. A massive weight of horror pulled me down when I realized it was an empty bottle of Lunesta. "Sleeping pills! He overdosed on sleeping pills!" Tears streamed down my cheeks in an instant, and I started to hyperventilate.

"Alright, honey, take a breath," the lady urged. "I have an ambulance on the way, so I just want you to stay calm till they get there, okay?"

I sniffled and hung up. Bill's breathing had shrunken to a faint wheezing and I fell beside him and started bawling. I felt so helpless; I agreed to help this man in his time of need, and there was nothing I could do but wait for a goddamn ambulance!

"Don't die, Bill!" I pleaded as I grasped his limp hand and cried into his shoulder. "Don't you dare die!"


	17. Hospital

**Chapter 16**

—Holly Wainright—

My heart was racing so rapidly I was afraid it would burst, and my legs wobbled as I started running. The bag with the carton of eggs inside it bobbed alongside me and slowed me down, and I became increasingly frustrated; I finally decided to just chuck the bag on the side of the road, the eggs breaking and splattering inside their container.

I sprinted with every ounce of energy I had down the sidewalk, which seemed a lot longer going back. When I finally got to the house, an ambulance sat just outside flashing its red, headache-inducing lights. Dismay formed a rock in the pit of my stomach when I saw Bill's legs disappear into the back of the emergency vehicle on a stretcher, followed by the hasty scatter of uniformed men as they climbed into the ambulance on all sides.

When the massive red car started screeching its siren, it sped down the road and eventually disappeared. I caught sight of Christie standing on the porch, her face soaked and her chest bouncing with heavy sobs. I rushed up to my friend and cupped her shoulders. "Christie, what happened?"

"Bill…Bill…overdosed…" she blubbered.

My eyes widened in pure shock. Bill _overdosed_? No…that wasn't like him. What happened? What was going on? How did this happen? As a million questions swarmed my head, my insides felt as if they had been set on fire, and my hands shook on top of Christie's shoulders. Tears escaped my eyes, and I too started sobbing. "Christie…what happened?"

"I don't know," my friend whispered as she made an attempt to calm down. "He…swallowed an entire bottle…of sleeping pills. But he told me to tell you…that…" She sobbed. "He wanted me to tell you that you were a good friend to him. I…" She sniffled. "I think…he was trying…to…commit suicide." Christie broke into a vicious sobbing fit that sounded like a severe string of coughs.

I glared at my friend in disbelief, but what other explanation was there? Bill had been so depressed, no matter what I tried to tell him. But then I remembered what he had told me earlier; was he just trying to get me to let my guard down? And an even scarier thought, Bill was no more than a walking skeleton; who knows how quickly those pills could completely destroy his body?

By this time I was crying almost as hard as Christie, and I pulled her into a tight hug. For several minutes we stood there, crying pathetically in each other's arms, and the hellish world around us melted into nothingness.

—Bill Kaulitz—

Holly misunderstood me. I knew she would.

As I sat on the bed with Scotty under my arm, the brunette girl approached me with coffee and a doughnut. I knew I had to tell her what I was about to do, but I didn't know how to form the words. Taking in a deep, nervous breath, I managed to say: "I've been thinking about what you said."

Holly's head snapped upward and looked at me. "And?"

I thought for a moment. In a way, taking my own life would take some unease off of her shoulders as well. I couldn't stand to see her suffering for me when I couldn't be helped anyway. Once I was dead, I figured, she could stop worrying about my worsening condition. "I'm really sorry about how I've been acting. I promise I'll never do it again."

After setting the dishes on my nightstand, she fitted herself by my side. While she stroked my side, she gave me yet another lecture about how things will get better. I felt myself get hot with frustration; she still didn't understand. Things could never return to normal when Tom was taken from me. I had to do this; the bottle of Lunesta was waiting at the ready underneath my mattress, and it assured me that I would be with my twin soon.

But as I listened to Holly's sweet voice caressing my ear, a wave of nostalgia hit and tears ran down my face. Memories flooded my head, mostly of when she saved the band a year ago. "There's so much I'm going to miss," I mumbled.

Holly pressed her cheek against what was left of my shoulder and got up to return to the kitchen. I could tell she thought I meant there were so many things about Tom that I would miss, but she was sadly mistaken; what I was really going to miss was Tokio Hotel and the G's and most of all…her. Whether Holly knew it or not, she was such an important person in my life for all she's done.

But Tom was more important.

After booting Scotty from the room, I was able to commit the ultimate sin. I grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills from underneath of my mattress and popped the cap off. Spilling the entire container's worth into my withered hand, I didn't think twice before cupping it to my mouth and slurping the evil pills up graciously. Within seconds, I could feel myself going unconscious as the drug took effect. I couldn't remember much after that, except Christie came rushing in with panic in her eyes. I expressed my feelings about Holly to her, encouraging her to tell the brunette girl.

…

I woke up hours later as an acrid smell stung my nostrils. Opening my bleary eyes, I squinted and tried to lift my arm to rub them, but a sharp pain exploded in my wrist. When I looked at my arm, I realized that there was a bandage on it with a tube coming out. Somehow horrified by the sight, I screamed.

I heard footsteps pounding rapidly in the distance until they entered the room. When I cocked my head upward, I realized I was looking at what appeared to be a nurse. "Are you alright, Mr. Kaulitz?"

I stared at her in confusion before glancing back at my arm. It suddenly occurred to me that I was hooked up to an IV, and the room I lay in was a hospital room.

"Are you alright, Mr. Kaulitz?" the nurse repeated. "I heard you scream."

"I-I'm fine," I whispered uncertainly. "What happened?"

"You overdosed on sleeping pills," she replied. "We have successfully removed the drug from your body, but we might want to keep you here awhile longer; you're dangerously thin."

After a few more exchanges in dialogue, the nurse left the room and I fell back against my pillow. My plans were foiled, and I started to sob when the reality hit that I had failed to die and reunite myself with Tom.

I started to cry loudly and deeply, but this time was more intense than it had been—normally, Holly would be here to hold me and tell me that everything would be okay. But this time, I cried alone, and I immediately realized that I had called my beloved brunette friend off for a second time. And I had a dreary feeling that she wouldn't forgive me this time.


	18. Sparks Fly

**Chapter 17**

—Bill Kaulitz—

After an hour or two of listening to the gentle patter of rain against the window, a nurse entered my room followed by two girls whose sight brought on a dreadful feeling. Their faces were expressionless as they approached me, but I could tell they were angry at me by the sudden tension in the room.

The minute the nurse left, Holly wasted no time making me feel worse. "Why, Bill? Why would you do such a thing?" Her voice shook, ready to crack, and she made no effort to hide her pouring tears.

I sighed. "You don't understand, Holly. Tom and I need each other to survive; if he can't live, neither can I."

"But we still don't know whether or not he's really dead!" the brunette girl bawled. Christie tried to take her hand and calm her down, but she yanked her arm away and glared at me dead on. "Look, Bill, dead or not there is a better solution than killing yourself!"

I shook my head, exasperated. "You don't understand, Holly. Tom is my life, and as long as he's not here beside me, I'll die no matter what."

More tears fell from the woman's pretty face, and she backed away from my bed. "You've given up."

I was outraged by the level of Holly's ignorance. "I did it for Tom!" I protested.

"You've given up," she repeated. "I can't believe you, Bill. After all I've done for you, after every bit of support I've ever given you and the rest of the band, you just bailed on me. All I wanted to do was to help you; I asked for nothing in return. I just wanted to see you get well, to make you happy again. Is that too much to ask of a twenty-two-year-old woman like myself?"

My heart melted with a painful mixture of guilt and anger. As much as I pitied her and all she had done, she still didn't understand what it was like to lose a twin. I answered simply: "You just don't understand."

Holly's eyes had gone bloodshot with the amount of tears she lost. She scoffed and growled: "I can't believe you, Bill Kaulitz. I come all the way to Germany—twice—to help you, and this is the thanks I get?" She bolted out of the room, sobbing and blubbering as she disappeared down the hall.

Christie, who had been silent the whole time, turned to glower at me. It was nothing short of scary; the blond girl was usually smiling and full of energy. But now, with an expression twisted on her face that I had never seen before, she looked possessed. "You know, Bill? There was a reason why I liked you so much and was eager to meet you, and it wasn't just because of your pretty face like everyone—even Holly—thinks. You were my idol, and your words of wisdom touched me in a way that was otherwise untouchable. But now…it's just so hard to see the man that has so much to say about love and compassion and self-pride attempt to steal his own life. I guess you're not who I thought you were." And on that note, she swung on her heels and left the room.

Once again I was alone, and the noise of rain hammering against the window had dominated once more. There was something about what Christie said that struck me like a blow to the stomach; such powerful words had come from a girl that normally liked to ramble on about nothing, and I knew there was something utterly serious about the situation. Had I really wreaked such havoc by trying to take my own life?

Suddenly, a thousand images raced around in front of my eyes. For once, Tom was eliminated from my memory as I reminisced about everyone else in my life: my mom and stepdad, Georg and Gustav, Scotty, David, Tobi, Holly and even Christie. All those people…they loved and supported me through everything. And what did I do? I tried to abandon them all because I refused to cope with the loss of my brother. It was at that moment that I realized Holly _did_ understand, and that she helped me in every possible way. It was my own misunderstanding that let things get this far…

—Holly Wainright—

I burst through the doors of the hospital and started sprinting down the sidewalk. The pouring rain pelted me like tiny rocks, but I pressed on. I didn't know where I was running to or why; all I knew was that I had to get far away from where I was, evade the pain that coiled and suffocated me in that room with the psychotic singer.

After a while I couldn't run anymore; the rain came down so hard that I felt as if I were underwater, and I couldn't breathe. Collapsing against a streetlight, I coughed and sputtered and sobbed as my mind tried to catch up with me. The splashing of rain and humming of passing cars seemed to help me calm down a bit, and I quickly collected myself. Right when I stood up, a car pulled up beside the curb and the driver's window slid down. I could barely make out a woman's voice yelling: "Hey! Need a ride?"

I contemplated for a split second, but I would probably look rather odd turning down an escape from the pouring rain, and I certainly didn't want to catch pneumonia. Yanking open the backseat door and sliding in, I realized how much easier it was to breathe without having to worry about water pelting me in all directions.

"What are you doing outside in weather like that?" the woman asked. When she looked back at me, I noticed she had glossy blond hair much like Christie's. Her eyes were a deep blue, shimmering like sapphires in what little light filtered through the car.

When I was too slow to respond, she proceeded to another question. "Where do you live?"

I couldn't remember Bill's address, but I couldn't bear to go back to that house anyway. "The key to my house is with a friend and the door's locked," I explained. It wasn't a lie; I was pretty sure Christie had the key, and I had no idea where she was.

The lady gave me a funny look, but nodded. "Well, I could take you back to my place for a while, if you'd like."

"Yes, thank you," I replied.

And with that, the woman pulled out onto the road. We had a brief chat on the way to her house, and I soon learned that her name was Gabi and that she was a doctor. "Sometimes I manage to perform checkups in my own home," she said proudly. "When I'm not in the office, I care for mildly sick or injured people in my own home—that is, if I know them well enough. In fact, I'm helping a young man right now, and he's made excellent progress."

I was somewhat impressed by this woman and her accomplishments; I even requested to see her patient once we got to her place.

"He's upstairs, second door on the right," she directed. "But knock on the door quietly; he could be asleep."

I climbed the nearby stairwell and approached the door that fit Gabi's description. I tapped the wooden barrier lightly with my knuckles, and my skeleton just about hopped out of my skin at the familiarity of the voice on the other side. "Come in!"

I gasped, my heart racing, and shoved the door open. Sitting there on the bed was exactly who it sounded like. "Tom!"


	19. Together Forever

**Chapter 18**

—Bill Kaulitz Memory—

"Hey, I'm Gustav."

"I'm Georg."

"I'm Tom."

I pulled the mic to its rightful place in front of me and turned towards the camera. "I'm Bill and we are…"

"…Tokio Hotel!" we all shouted in unison.

I continued. "Check out our new record, _Humanoid_. Thank you so much for your support."

And so the interview began. The woman interviewing us had brought up _Twilight_, which had recently come out. She asked: "If each of you were a vampire, and you could bite one person to have them live forever with you, who would it be?"

Without hesitation, Georg answered: "My girlfriend."

"I think for me, it would be Tom," I replied.

My twin shifted on the couch, moving closer to me. "Yeah, maybe it would be Bill, but—"

I practically glared at Tom. "Maybe?"

Georg chimed in. "You're in a good position because you can choose two."

"Yeah," Tom agreed. "I can choose two, right. So Bill can choose me and I can choose…Jessica Alba."

I smirked at my brother's joke, but I couldn't help but take it seriously. Why didn't he choose me? And what did Georg mean when he said that Tom could choose two? Even if Tom could choose two, why would he want someone else?

After the interview, I stormed down the hall toward the car. I could feel Tom's gaze piercing my core, but I didn't want to hear anything from him. I was officially mad at him, and he knew it.

When we got back to the hotel, I heard a hesitant knock on my door. "Bill? Is something wrong?"

I grumbled. The G's weren't around to question us, so I decided to let my brother in. The door shut behind us, and I walked over to my bed with Tom following close behind.

As we sat together on the soft bedspread, my twin finally broke the ice. "Bill, if something's bothering you I want you to tell me about it."

I sighed. "Why didn't you pick me?"

My confused brother cocked his head to the side. "Huh?"

"The vampire thing," I explained. "Why did you pick Jessica Alba over me?"

"I didn't," Tom protested. "I could pick two."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded.

"Well…" Tom thought for a moment on how to describe what he meant. "If you're a vampire, and you bite me, then we'll both be vampires; no point in me biting you. That's where I got the second option from. I didn't want to bail on a second option, so I picked Jessica Alba." My brother shrugged. "What can I say? She's hot."

I was quiet for a while, thinking over what he said. I was still mad that he'd have a second choice, but I knew that I was his first one, and that was all that mattered.

"Billa, you know I'd choose you if I were the vampire," he continued. "But just to settle things, let's make it official." Without warning, my brother pulled my shirt collar open, exposing my small bony shoulder. He leaned in and opened his mouth, closing it fiercely over my lower neck; he punctured my skin and caused me to hiss in pain.

When Tom pulled away, he yanked his own collar out and said: "Your turn."

Hesitantly, I leaned in and pressed my teeth into my brother's neck. Like me, Tom hissed when the pain hit him, but he also went so far as to growl and curse under his breath. When I pulled away, I saw that I had given him bite marks and made his skin shiny with saliva. It suddenly looked so wrong.

"Damn, Bill, your teeth are sharp," Tom pointed out, pulling his shirt over the bite. "But now it's legitimate. We can live together forever. _Es ist dich und mich für immer_."


	20. Tom's Story

**Chapter 19**

—Holly Wainright—

My whole body went rigid with shock, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing. _No,_ I thought. _This isn't real; it's just another nightmare. Any second now something will happen and Tom will spray blood and guts all over the room, and I'll be awakened by my own screaming. _But nothing happened, and no matter how hard I tried to find some sign that I was dreaming, everything became more and more real every second.

The man that sat cross-legged on the bed gawked up at me like a deer caught in headlights. His cornrows lay neatly over his shoulders, and for a moment I tried to convince myself that it was Dimitri from the tour bus. He did have the lookalike's sunken cheekbones, which was new; but is jaw wasn't square, his frame wasn't quite as wide, and he wore a lip ring. It was Tom.

Tom narrowed his chocolate-brown eyes as he stared at me, as if he recognized me but time had worn down the memories. "Who are you?"

"Tom…" I whispered, forcing my voice to return as my shock ebbed. "It's me, Holly. Remember?"

The guitarist's eyes widened as reminiscences flooded through them. "Holly…I-It's been so long. But…what are you doing here?"

Approaching the bed and seating myself against the footboard and across from Tom, I briefly outlined the story of how I reunited with the band and how I got to come back to Germany with them. But I knew that I had to tell him the most important part. My face sunk with sadness as I mumbled: "Tom, this might be hard for you to handle, but Bill has lost his mind. He thinks you're dead, and he hasn't been taking care of himself for months."

I watched as tears filled Tom's eyes. "Bill…_Gott_, how I miss him. You don't know what it's like being separated from your twin for so long; I haven't been able to eat properly, and Gabi is really concerned for my well-being."

I sighed, shivering at what I was about to say. "Bill has been taking it harder. He started by crying uncontrollably and constantly day after day, then he obsessively spent several hours a day watching Tokio Hotel TV episodes just to scowl whenever you came on the screen. He stopped eating soon after; when he did eat, he threw up most of his food, and he's nothing more than a walking skeleton now." I hiccupped with incoming tears. "And…just recently…he attempted suicide."

Tom gasped loudly and shuffled up against the head of the bed as if a snake had slithered past him. "WHAT? How…when…Is he okay?"

"We rushed him to the hospital," I explained. "They managed to save him, but I requested that they keep him in there a while longer, lest he try to hurt himself again. They didn't want to release him anyway; his emaciated condition was of great concern to them. But keeping Bill under the watch of doctors is only a temporary fix—he needs you, Tom. I know he won't get well till he sees you again."

I grew silent for a minute, allowing some time for what I had said to sink in. Tom sat frozen on his end of the bed, jaw hanging in dismay as he recounted what he had just heard. "Bill…no…he can't…" Tears began to fall down his face, which was almost as bony as Bill's from lack of eating.

I leaned over and laid my hands over Tom's. "There's still hope. Bill isn't dead yet, and he needs you now more than ever. You need to get over to the hospital and you need to get there now."

Tom nodded and dabbed his wet face with his jacket sleeve. "There's just one problem, though, and it has to do with the belief that I'm dead."

"What is it?" I asked.

The guitarist's eyes darted up to meet mine, and the story unfolded. "It started out at a bar a few miles away from here. After a get-together with some old friends, I was walking out when suddenly, a guy pulls up to me in his car. Without a word he whips out a knife and stabs me repeatedly in the stomach and sides." Tom grabbed a handful of his jacket and shirt and pulled it up. His once buff chest was now withered and bumpy with bones. But when I looked closer, I noticed several inch-long scars infesting his skin.

After I got a good look at the damage, Tom let his clothes fall back over him and he continued. "After being stabbed twelve times, I must have gone unconscious. I woke up with an incredible amount of pain in my torso, and I was lying sprawled out in a ditch in an unfamiliar part of town. Extremely weak and burning with pain, I managed to crawl out of the ditch and have a good look around, and that's when I realized that I was near Gabi's house. Gabi, by the way, is a friend of my parents, so I've been here a few times. And it was a real stroke of luck that I knew where she lived; once she found me bleeding and half-dead on her porch, she immediately took me in and patched up my wounds. She told me that none of them were deep enough to puncture my organs, so I'm really lucky.

"However, a story came on the news the next day that the brute had killed me. Whoever tried to stab me to death remained at large, and the cops searched all over town for my body. Although my body was never found, everyone jumped to the conclusion that I had died, and that was the unfortunate news they passed along to my band mates. As much as I wanted to go find Bill and prove that story false, Gabi wanted to keep me here for the time being. They still haven't found the guy that tried to kill me, and she's concerned that I'm still in danger."

"Actually, you're not."

Tom and I snapped our heads in the direction of the door, where Gabi stood; I never noticed she was there.

When the woman saw that she had our attention, she continued. "Just yesterday they caught the guy after another attempted murder. I meant to tell you, but you were asleep when they were talking about it on the news."

My heart started racing. "Well, if Tom's safety is ensured, then we better visit Bill in the hospital!"

I made for the door, and almost immediately Tom followed me at my heels.

"I'll give you two a ride," Gabi decided as she ran to grab her car keys.

When the three of us strode outside toward the car, I could hear Tom's breathing quickening with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. "Finally, after all these months, I get to see Bill again!"


	21. Together Again

**Chapter 20**

—Bill Kaulitz—

I spent the next half hour or so in silence, eyes closed, listening to the calming sound of the rain. It had quieted to a near drizzle, and the noise managed to numb some of my emotional pain. But after a while, my eyes flew open at a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I began to feel mysteriously antsy, and something inside me stirred the way a stick stirs dying embers to bring the fire back to life. This sensation seemed so familiar—I could have sworn it was the same feeling that invaded my body whenever Tom was nearby. But that couldn't be right; Tom was dead, wasn't he?

A nurse wandered into my room with a soft, polite smile tugging on her mouth. "Bill, you have visitors."

I nodded in acknowledgement, and she left the room. Her presence was replaced by that of Holly, and I started to feel nauseous. Remembering how she last treated me, I was at a loss on how to react. But wait…didn't the nurse say I had "visitors?" Where was Christie?

"Hey, Bill." Holly smiled, which took me aback. "Someone's here to see you." The enthusiasm in her voice sent my heart racing a mile a minute. Her eyes told me the impossible, and I somehow believed her.

But after someone else entered the room, how could I not? At first, I could have sworn it was Dimitri, and my face prepared to grow hot with anger. But after a few seconds of staring at the man, I knew it wasn't that imposter; his frame wasn't wide enough, and a speck of light reflected off his lower lip like a bright star in the night sky. The embers in my belly burst into a flourishing fire, and every last bit of physical and emotional pain that had clung to me for months had suddenly vanished. I felt like I was light enough to float to the ceiling, and for a split second I wondered if I had died. Those chocolate-brown eyes told no lie, and there was no more denying it—the man approaching me was none other than my beloved twin brother Tom.

Those god-like eyes were flooded with tears by the time their owner reached my bed. The biggest smile I had ever seen stretched across his face as he leaned in and whispered: "_Halo, kleinen bruder_."

When my body dared work again, my eyes poured tears down my face and my breathing quickened until I was hyperventilating. Two huge, warm hands wrapped around my scrawny arms and gently pulled me to a sitting position atop the bed. Without thinking, I buried my face in his huge sweater and flung my arms around his chest like it was my lifeline. Pulling my brother in close so he couldn't leave, I broke down into a pathetic fit of bawling and sobbing as I felt two comforting arms envelop and hold me with equal force.

I hiccupped a few times before managing words. "Tom…I can't…believe it…" I coughed up a sob. "You're…You're alive!"

A soft shush brushed past my ear, and a gentle hand reached up to stroke my short black hair graciously. Once I had calmed down enough, Tom muttered: "Billa…it's been too long, and so much damage has been done. But we're both still here, and now we're back together again…everything will be alright…"

I sniffled. "Tom, I missed you so much! I thought you were dead, and…and…" I took in a deep breath. "I can't live without you, Tommy."

"I know, _bruder_, I know." I felt wet droplets on my shoulder as my twin's tears fell and landed on me. "But I'm here now; everything will be fine."

I slightly loosened my grip on my brother's chest as my crying began to subside. "Tommy?"

"Yes, Billa?"

"I love you."

Tom nodded and stroked my bumpy back. "_Ich liebe dich für immer_."


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

—Holly Wainright—

"Here, _this_ ought to fatten you up!" Christie declared as she set two plates of piping hot ravioli doused in alfredo sauce on the table in front of Bill and Tom.

Scotty bounced around on his front paws as his tail whipped back and forth, stopping every few seconds to nuzzle Tom in the thigh—it was as if he couldn't believe even after a week that his master had returned.

"Are the G's coming over today?" Tom asked with a mouthful of pasta. After Bill was released from the hospital, I insisted on bringing Georg and Gustav over so they could reunite with Tom, but the twins wanted at least a week to spend together before anyone else got involved. But after that week, the guitarist was more than eager to see his friends again.

"I called them earlier," I replied. "And let me tell you, Tom: when I told them you were alive, their voices became more hyper and excited than Christie on Red Bull!"

The twins' eyes widened simultaneously, and Bill asked: "Is that even possible?"

"Admit it; you guys love my tireless energy!" Christie retorted as she scooped ravioli onto two more plates for me and her.

No sooner had we finished our lunch and discarded the dirty plates in the sink than when we heard a heavy knocking on the door.

"It's open!" Tom yelled.

The door squealed as it swung open and shut, and the sound of two pairs of shuffling feet echoed throughout the house. In less than a second, Georg and Gustav were standing in the doorway to the kitchen with wide eyes and hanging jaws.

"_Oh mein gott_!" Georg shouted as they approached. "We thought you were joking!"

"Would I lie to you guys?" I asked.

My question went unanswered. Instead, Tom walked toward the G's sporting a huge smile. Embracing first Georg then Gustav in a tight, back-patting hug, he exclaimed: "It's good to see you two again!"

While Tom and the G's got caught up on everything that had happened, I glanced back and realized that Bill had disappeared. Confused, I wandered down the hall and noticed his bedroom door open. I peered inside and found him sitting on his bed, his cheeks betraying shiny streaks.

Concerned, I approached the singer. "Bill, what's wrong?"

Bill glanced up at me with tear-soaked eyes. "Nothing's wrong. In fact, everything's so perfect it's unreal. I truly believed that Tom was dead and that my life was nearing its end. But then you came along, something that I thought I could only hope for, and you helped me so much!" He sobbed as more tears spilled down his face. I sat beside my singer and held his arm. "And as if that weren't enough, you brought Tom back to me! I swear, Holly, you must be a miracle worker or something."

I smiled. "I'm _your_ miracle worker, Bill. But trust me; even I'm surprised by everything I've ever done for you and the band."

The black-haired man mirrored my smile, but his seemed a bit shy. "Holly…I know we didn't get to hang out for very long last time because of the tour, but we're on break now. How would you and Christie like to stay here awhile?"

My eyes became huge as I stared into Bill's. With a smile bigger than I ever thought possible, I wrapped my arms around his narrow waist, which felt like it was just starting to thicken back to normal. "I would love to—and so would Christie."

—Bill Kaulitz—

I took a quick glance into the living room and saw Holly and Christie sprawled peacefully across the couches, sound asleep in their temporary beds. In the kitchen, Tom was eating a bag of Skittles in silence—it was relaxing just to watch my brother plucking tiny candies from the colorful package and popping them into his mouth.

After a few minutes, my twin noticed me standing in the doorway. "Bill, shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Who are you, my mom?" I jeered as I sat beside him at the table. "I just noticed you sitting out here late every night, and I was curious."

Tom smirked softly and offered me some Skittles. I gladly held out a cupped hand and my twin shook some candy into my palm. "A lot has been going through my mind for the past week, that's all. I missed you desperately all those months—I was constantly worried and alone, even with Gabi taking care of me. I was beginning to worry that I might never see you again. And now you're here beside me, and I'm a bit scared that suddenly I'll wake up in Gabi's house one day and realize that this was all a dream."

I gazed deep into my brother's sweet, chocolate eyes. "This is no dream, Tommy. Holly has saved us again, and our bond remains unbroken."

Tom chuckled, placing three more Skittles into his mouth. "So the vampire thing worked, huh?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What vampire thing?"

Setting the bag of Skittles on the table, my twin grabbed his shirt collar and pulled it out. Looking closely, I noticed the faintest of scars in his neck. I suddenly remembered the bites we gave each other after an interview a year or two before. Tom told me I bit him hard, but I had no idea I left puncture wounds. "Remember? We bit each other so that we could live together forever. And because of that, we were kept alive long enough to reunite."

"You really think so?" I asked.

Tom smiled and stood up. "I know so. Now come on; we better get some sleep. Maybe we can take the girls somewhere tomorrow."

"Okay," I agreed as I shoved the last of my Skittles into my mouth.

I watched Tom from the doorway to my room until he disappeared into his. I smiled at the sudden reality that my twin brother was back with me, and I looked forward to whatever plans we had the next day. Tom and I were back together for the first time in months, and we had a lot of catching up to do.

**The End**


End file.
